


Everything

by Washedawaycloud



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, RP Prompt, Soul Timer AU, Tumblr Prompt, soul mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 13:11:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9729785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Washedawaycloud/pseuds/Washedawaycloud
Summary: A study of a man who believed he was alone.





	

They were born with the marks, the …timers. No one knew how they came about, or what they were for at first. Not until Mythal met Elgar’nan and the sweetest chime sounded. It was a thing that made legends rise. Their love was -  it was otherworldly. 

All the Evanuris, all of them, had timers, and all of them had mates. Except Solas. Solas’s timer, the magic that ticked away under his skin, had an incredible date on it. It had branded him an outlier. Not that his views hadn’t helped such a brand along. 

He was brash in those years, hot headed and more than willing to attempt to prove himself. Took up for any cause that was just. Rose in the ranks and was utterly alone when he retired to his dreams. Oh, friends counted, of course, he enjoyed their talks immensely. Dreams were his escape from the world where he had no one to lean on. Not like Sylaise and June or Falon’Din and Dirthamen did. Even Andruil had someone. Her timer had chimed amidst a hunt of all things. 

Jealousy was an ugly emotion, one that choked him for near four centuries. Until he simply - became numb to it. He wore cuffs to hide his wrists, and took any woman or man who would have him. Debauchery was an escape as much as dreams were. 

He lived, he grew, he learned, he lost. He fought and bled and drifted while his fellows became corrupt. Narcissistic and corrupt. Capricious. The only who stood fast in their morals was his dearest friend, and she died. All hell broke loose. Hell broke loose with him at the helm.   


And then, when the blood was spilled, and the magic spent, the world irrevocably changed - he slept. He drifted in dreams for years. Years, upon years. Never once did he think to look at his wrist, even as the years slipped by him. The dreams got deeper, less solid, and time ticked away. 

##  _                                  Tick, tick, tick. _

Solas, Fen’Harel, Dread Wolf, the one who hunted alone, woke, _alone_. He woke to a world he did not recognize, where nothing felt right. His hair hung past his knees, he was emaciated, hungry. It took him months to become a shade of himself.  It took months to shed what he had let die somewhere in the middle of the civil war. The hair is first. His own name reclaimed. He walks into the world and abruptly learns what it is to be elven here.   
  
Eighteen months, seventy seven days, five hours, fifty five minutes, ten seconds. He sees it when a guard attacks him, for apparently offending a noble. A human noble. Because they rank higher than he did now. It rankles him, makes rage burn and bubble just under his skin. It is nothing to escape them, but more effort than he wished to expend.   
   
Twelve months - he has killed Templar to save his own skin. He has killed mages who could not, would not listen to him. Solas has seen more blood magic than he ever did during Elvhenan’s height. It is - these shemlen who run around tossing magic barely controlled. He meets a dreamer mage. a dalish.

Dalish. He met several such clans, and they had yet to impress him. Had yet to convince him his people were not completely gone. Unwilling to listen to the truth. Unwilling to learn. Willingly marking themselves as slaves. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. None of it was right. Noneof it was what it should have been. 

Six months - he is stronger, but still terribly diminished. He has found his foci, he convinced the dreamer to take up his cause. He befriends the dreamer. He pulls people to him, has been pulling people to him, placing them. They all have set goals, set missions. His plans are simple, but they will shake the world, and make his mistakes right.  
  
Four months - his agents have nudged the Venatori toward his orb. It is taken, as planned, he retreats to the mountains. His agents scatter, watchful, ever watchful. Solas trains. He expands his mana pool, he travels the fade, he learns. Devours literature, scoffs at the ridiculous theories and rages over the Imperium picking the bones of his people, the ruins of a civilization so much greater than their own.

Two months - He sits in a cell with a young woman, who has been grievously wronged. She fights against his magic. Magic that should have simply killed his foci’s wielder and apparently did not. Solas mourned for her, pouring healing spells, spells to stunt the anchor’s growth, spells to quiet it, stabilize it. Three days he sits by her. The fourth day he leaves, one more try at the rifts. Just one more before he is forced to take drastic measures to fix yet another mistake. Salem - the prisoner - she changes everything.

Two minutes - Solas had not anticipated this. He hadn’t paid attention didn’t read the signs correctly within himself or her. This was folly. This was a mistake more terrible than the anchor. She was but a candle flame. His plans alone might see her dead.

But she steers the world and shows him how worthy the people are. She shows him they are not tranquil,they are not dead to the world around him. Smiles and talks, walking together for months between this destination and that one. Watching her. Watching her become resigned to death to save a town, an organization that would not have done the same to her. 

One minute - he’s taken her to the echo of Haven. It will forever echo within the fade. The spirits already reenact the battle here. So soon. As always, it is Salem’s bravery that impressed them so. She truly is a marvel.

He doesn’t mean to tell her. He doesn’t mean to think her strawberry hair beautiful, her uncommon proportions so terribly attractive. He does not mean to adore her _soul. Solas doesn’t expect her lips to touch is and the chiming to start._

##                           She changes - _**everything**_ **.**

**Author's Note:**

> I blame my massive Solas muse for all the random shit I am writing lately. I hope it wasn't too out there for most Solas fans or Solasmancers. This is just Solas as he is for me. Cheers loves xo and Happy Valentine's Day.


End file.
